The morning after her midnight duel with Ayoa "Sky" Boateng, Naki could still feel the wind against her face. Every breath reminded her of the leap, the laughter, the challenge in his eyes.
But with that thrill came a restless fire. If Sky could soar, then so could she—no matter what anyone thought.
By dusk, she slipped into the rehearsal tent, heart pounding. The ropes swayed above, lit only by a single lantern. Grandpa Ofori sat in the shadows, watching her with patient eyes.
"You're earlier than usual," he said.
Naki nodded, determination hardening her voice. "I want to try the high wire."
His brow furrowed. "The wire is no toy, Naki-girl. It doesn't forgive pride."
"I'm not afraid," she insisted, already climbing the ladder.
The rope stretched across the tent like a silver thread, thin and trembling. She stepped onto it, arms spread wide, eyes fixed on the opposite platform.
One step. The rope quivered.Two steps. Her arms wavered.Three—
Her foot slipped.
The world tilted beneath her. Gasps tore from her throat as she flailed, clinging desperately to balance. For a heartbeat she saw herself crashing into the sawdust, her dream shattering before it had even begun.
But a steady hand caught the rope below.
"Enough!" Ofori barked, steadying her with surprising strength for his age. "Balance is not about daring death. It's about respecting life."
Tears burned in Naki's eyes as she scrambled back to safety. "But Sky—he doesn't fall. He makes it look so easy."
"Sky is not you," Ofori said firmly, his gaze piercing. "Listen to me, child. The wire will punish arrogance. You must learn patience, rhythm, breath. Balance is not won with pride—it is earned with humility."
Naki's shoulders sagged. "I just… I want to prove I belong up there."
"You will," Ofori said softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. "But prodigies don't rise in one night. They grow, one step at a time. Remember—balance is more than your feet on the wire. It's your heart, your spirit. Find balance within, and the rope will carry you."
His words sank deep, wrapping around the ache in her chest. Slowly, Naki nodded. "Then teach me."
Ofori's eyes softened. "Tomorrow. At dawn. And the day after. And the day after that."
Naki gazed back at the rope above. It no longer looked like a thread waiting to break. It looked like a path—fragile, yes, but leading somewhere only she could go.
And for the first time, she understood: her battle was not against Sky, or her mother, or even the laughter of the crowd. It was against her own impatience.
She would find her balance. And when she did, the world would have no choice but to see her fly.